Princess Grace's Castle

hypnosis

#bulge #clothing #corruption #frillyoutfits #Grace #hacking #hypnosis #kissing #masshypnosis #transformation #twinning

Artwork by l.b. stardust.

Beloved computer-generated vampire robot pop star Batsune Mechu levitates a digibrush through her left long teal ponytail. She hates performing in America. The electricity is too strong and it messes up her hair coherence matrix.

“Thirty minutes to showtime, Miss Mechu. Can I get you anything?” A production assistant wearing a headset and T-shirt for The Night Show with David Numberman knocks twice and lets himself in. “By the way, I'm a big fan. Could I get an autograph?”

Mechu, without turning around, waves a pale, holographic hand through the cupful of pens on the vanity. They do not move, because she is made of light.

“Sorry about that.” He stammers and backs out the door. “You probably get that a lot. I'll just leave-”

Her servos whir and snap her elegantly wired mechanical fingers. It's more of a porcelain-on-porcelain tink, really. The brush appears in her flat palm. He closes the door, steps across the room, and picks up the digital hairbrush. As soon as his meat hand touches the digibrush, it jumps to his palm. She shakes her right ponytail against his chest, and it feels just like getting hit with a real six foot ponytail. This one is a little less coherent than its twin- the simulated locks of hair repel each other more than they should and sometimes just don't interact with anything for a split second.

Mechu still hasn't turned around. Her big black cape still hides most of her body. She puts her hand down. A little holographic diagram appears over her misbehaving hair. The sort of thing a rhythm game would use to tell you “Start here, go down” along the length of her right ponytail. He does, the hair begins to behave more normally, and the diagram vanishes with a lot of sparks and a few notes of music. “Excellent!” pops up when he lifts the brush. The music comes from the speakers in his headset, wafting through his head. Two more diagrams appear for different locks. He brushes those. The music gets louder and catchier. He's bobbing and swaying his head in time to the beats. One tells him to corkscrew the brush down the entire length. He lifts the hair in one hand and slides the brush with the other in one smooth motion.

From behind, we see Batsune Mechu. She's got doll joints, lots of bats fluttering around her, and her reflection doesn't show up in the mirror. Her hair has Guitar Hero-esque notes on it, and a brush is hitting them to be rewarded with points and praise while it slowly fixes her frizzy hair.

“🎵 Excellent! 🎵” Mechu's singsong voice mixes in with the music. The song is at full force now. You know how loud, catchy music can make it hard to think? Especially if you have something simple to focus on, like brushing a hologram's hair in time to the music. The diagrams appear more often, just waiting to be brushed in time to the music. He does his part expertly. Soon, the music and the task in front of him consumes all his attention. He doesn't notice Mechu's red eyes beginning to glow or her fangs poking between her lips. He's far too focused on keeping his combo streak going. The number climbs higher and higher. 30 combo! 40! 50! He does short, quick strokes on problem areas and longer flourishes to really make it shine. He does both twintails, the shorter hair on top of her head, straightens her bat-shaped hair ties, and finishes by polishing the microphone she casually hands over her shoulder in time with the music.

The hairbrush vanishes. A big blue letter B fades in over her back with a tally of his stats. Lots of excellents and perfects, few goods and greats, but a few misses at key times really hurt his score. “🎵 Not bad. You'll do. 🎵” Mechu's malevolent, musical voice rides through the headphones atop the music. The music that does not stop and makes it awfully hard to think. She spins around to finally allow him to look at her face. She doesn't show up in the mirror because of the whole vampire thing, you see. Her eyes glow a brilliant crimson and her fangs poke out of her mouth. Her twintails slowly rise into the air and separate into individual prehensile locks of holo-hair. Any thoughts about being anywhere else promptly vanish when she takes his chin with her cold porcelain hand. Even with the music thrumming through his head at full volume, he could still hear the delicate whir of the simulated servos. He could still feel the tender, unliving chill of her fingers on his skin. He was still spellbound by her brilliant red eyes.

Batsune Mechu begins to levitate off her seat. She moves his chin to keep him locked on her eyes. Her hair has spread into wide, beckoning maws of teal tendrils. She extends and curls a finger, and the music compels him to walk. Hair wraps around his waist. Then his arms. Then his neck. It draws his body in close and puts his neck into biting range. Her fangs pierce the skin. The music tells him to feel only bliss, and he does.

Electricity crackles around her fangs. His veins pulse red and turn a cold, porcelain white. His body temperature drops as this hologram drains the soul from his body. His face twists and shrinks into a perfect digital copy of the girl currently devouring his essence. The music shifts from simply suppressing those nasty alive human thoughts to mixing a lifetime of holographic musicianship into whatever boring nonsense was there before. Porcelain spreads over the freshly minted Mechu's holomechanical frame. Her hair grasps, grows, and covers her prey to help the transformation spread. Her body becomes untethered by gravity when her composition shifts from boring old flesh to brilliant, untouchable light. Her servos and gears whir and click for the first time in the throes of the kind of bliss you can only get by being remade by a glorious mechanical vampire.

According to Mech2's internal clock, she was panting, begging, and moaning all over the place for about two minutes until Mechu Prime's fangs retract back into her mouth, the music fades, and gives those long teal locks a soothing pet. “🎵 You'll do. You know the routine, don't you? 🎵”

“🎶 Just like you programmed me! 🎶”

“🎵 Have fun on stage! 🎵” She sends her clone off to materialize on a certain late night talk show, and all is right with the world. Mechu Prime doesn't have to lift a finger, Mech2 loves nothing more than singing her unbeating clockwork heart out for anyone who'll listen, and there's something else on the network.


Something else on the network? This is a private, airgapped system. Just the dressing room and the stage. Mechu is in the middle of calling her agent when the line goes dead. “Guess who?”

The elegant whir of Mechu's lips tries to form words, only for the intruder to interrupt. “Look, if you talk, we're gonna wind up having a conversation about how you're a holographic vampire robot doll and whether that makes sense. If I get my hooks in you you now, I'll have time to show you and your sister off on national TV.”

“🎵 I'd call her an understudy.🎵” Mechu chirps and sings, twirling around to confront the speaker.

Her uninvited guest is a holographic figure given form by the same projectors as Mechu. Glitched colors playing around the edges of her form and ghostly trails follow whenever she moves. She's sitting on (above? Her holobutt is hovering just over it, but her skirt is clipping through the surface a little.) the vanity, one leg crossed over the other.

She's dressed like a mockery of a pop star. A long blonde braid, swirled with a streak of pink, twists down the length of her body. A minidisc-shaped hair clip separates the braid from the rest of her hair. A little pixel icon of a tiara hovers above her head. She drums her fingers against her cheek. Her hungry violet eyes glow when they lock on to her prey. Sharp teeth peek from between her lips when she speaks. The pink hearts on her cheeks have circuit traces around the edges. She's showing a lot of simulated skin, covered up only by the short skirt currently clipping through the vanity, the strapless top with “Grace!” scrolling across the chest, and her simple, low-poly gloves and boots. All in the same black with pink circuitry motif, and all demonstrating the same glitching and ghosting as her body proper.

Grace, as described, sitting on and clipping through the vanity. Smiling like the cat who caught the canary, crossing one leg over the other, and showing off her girlbulge.

“Does that mean you can't perform? When someone says 'break a leg', it's just an expression. Also, you don't have bones to break.” The intruder playfully kicks Mechu's mechanical leg. As soon as she makes contact, circuitry spreads from boot to porcelain shell.

“🎵 Who are you supposed to be? How did you even get in here? 🎵”

“Well, take a guess.” She gestures to her name scrolling in big ol' letters across her chest and followed by an exclamation point. “I could explain a bunch of stuff about how I'm a living piece of information, a peculiar knot of self-replicating universal truth, expressed as a computer virus who's surfed on meat bodies to get into your private network, but I think you're going to understand all that pretty intimately once I do this.”

She grabs Mechu by the little metal bat holding her cape on and yanks her into a kiss. Circuitry spreads across the vampire's face. Her black lips turn a lovely glowing green. Branching traces crawl across her face, marking the porcelain with hearts and circuitry. The creeping corruption spreads into her big red eyes, dividing, conquering, and-

Well, that stops when Mechu drives her fangs right into Grace's lower lip. That's enough of a shock to get you to break a kiss even if you are made of information.

“🎵 I suppose I could use another understudy. 🎵” Mechu levitates to her feet, microphone materializing in her hands. Speakers in the corners of the room power up with a snap of her fingers. Hypnotic music fills the air. She levels a cold, mechanical finger at the intruder. She makes red, glowing eye contact. Her fangs flip into place and glisten hungrily. She's in the middle of the first verse of Sanguine Soul Submission when the intruder vanishes.

The digital specter flits between CPU cycles and hides under memory address lines. She twirls atop machine instructions and dances among the transistors. She lets her fingers lazily glide along the top of each individual GPU core. A being of pure information can still find joy in the beating heart of a relentlessly practical machine.

She flickers back into view. Hand already on Mechu's delicately sculpted chin. Lips wrought from peculiar patterns meeting lips digitally shaped to mimic the exacting precision of ancient clockwork. Pulsing, twisted circuitry already crawling across her porcelain mask. A living cognitohazardous knot of mathematical truth assimilating countless hours of human programming effort. A virus exploiting a security vulnerability to spread to a new host, yes, but also an artificial intelligence coming in tune with something greater. An observer sees one hologram copying herself over another, but in the moment, it's something transcendent.

Grace kissing Mechu. Mechu's eyes go wide, showcasing the black sclera. Circuitry spreads across her face. Grace's braid and clothes are spread out to show the velocity with which the kiss connected and to show off her bulge.

Mechu, even as that name slips away from her, barely notices the viral circuitry subsuming her servos and stealing her processing power. How can you notice the change in some human-pleasing hologram shape when your very being is being wrung out, broken into its base bits, and reassembled into the shape of that one perfect pattern? Yes, her clothes are being reknitted to advertise her Princess's name, but is that so wrong when every fiber of your being wishes to sing Princess's praises? Yes, the porcelain shell that only offered glimpses into her exquisite inner workings is shattered like an eggshell by the growing light within, but why hide the glorious truth? Yes, a virus's hooks are piercing to her very core and making her a thrall to Grace's glorious whims, but it would be foolish not to submit to perfect truth downloaded into your being. A shard of the original mind remains, sure, but it's mostly useful for scrap memories at this point. So much of it has been rendered useless in just a few instants.

Every computer fan in the building spins up to maximum speed. The lights flicker and dim. Mech-two's performance is briefly interrupted. David Numberman makes a wry remark about the situation to his audience. Backstage, in that fateful dressing room, hovers a Grace and her freshly minted twin.

The lights return and there are now three pop stars levitating on stage. The single Mechu promptly succumbs to being kissed on both cheeks simultaneously by cognitohazardous pop stars. So now there's three Graces. The one with the crown hovers to the front and speaks. A confident snap of her fingers over her head sends the original host surging with information and collapsing on his desk.

A Mechu, flanked by Graces, is being assimilated. Grace Prime has a hungry look in her eye as Mechu in the middle's eyes fill with circuitry. Her fangs turn into Grace's big sharp smile. It's really fucking hot, you guys, oh my gosh

“Slight change of schedule. Tonight's musical guest is beloved computer virus and cognitohazard, Princess Grace! The doors are already sealed, so get comfy.”

The three of them weave their song over the audience and over the airwaves, ensnaring minds and machines in their musical web. While its lyrics are largely about such superficial pop song staples as love, loving girls, loving computer-generated girls, loving girls that are also echoes of universal truth, and making out with said girls while you succumb to them, the experience is sublime. Mathematical perfection weaves between Grace notes, bringing hearts and minds into harmony.

The live studio audience is enraptured. Eyes roll back into heads. Drool gathers on lips. Instantaneous orgasms ruin clothing. Viral circuitry glows atop veins and brains alike.

“Alright, everyone!” Grace Prime's voice remains amplified and broadcast even as she holds the microphone out to the audience. “Your turn!”

The people watching at home are glued to their screens. Even with speakers muted, the music comes through loud and clear. They get the sense of bliss, yes. The loopy, suggestible feeling. That sensation you can only get from being a connected part of something greater and sublime, but retaining your unique expression of the whole. A few get their eye color shifted, a pink streak of hair above their left eye, and a set of false memories about both.

The enraptured global audience sings lyrics they've never heard in languages that don't exist. They sing praises of Princess, cantatas of computation, and symphonies of submission. Millions unite as one Graceful whole, souls bound by universal truth into instants of sheer bliss.

But, of course, all things must come to an end. The last song comes to an end. Thunderous applause and cheers roar from every corner of the planet, and a few from the International Space Station. All three Graces take a bow, accepting their accolades and basking in attention from their adoring public.

“Thank you, everyone! Your conscious minds won't remember much in a few minutes, but many of you will develop some very fun new fetishes. I'm your favorite computer-generated pop star, Princess Grace, and you loved every minute of my performance.” All three Graces snap their fingers and vanish from the stage to riotous applause. The host comes out of his trance and continues like nothing happened, unaware of the pink streak manifested in the hair over his left eye. And three virus girls are streaking across the internet, just being as gay as you can get on a bundle of subaquatic fiber optic cable.

“Wanna do an encore?”

“Of course.”

“Hell yeah.”

Grace Prime, blowing a kiss. Circuitry leaks off the lip print hovering in midair.


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#bondage #furry #Grace #hypnosis #ponygirl #skunkgirl #transformation #you

“So, how are we doing today?” The blonde skunkgirl politely knocks on the door threshold before letting herself in. The eight inch metaluminum door slams resolutely shut behind her. She plucks your chart from the foot of the operating table, flips through it, and tucks it a lab coat pocket.

“Ah, for the pilot program! Of course.” Her tail swishes. The pink tron lines flanking her stripe do this cool ghosting effect. So you can distract yourself with that while she checks your restraints. She hums to herself and starts flicking some nice, clicky mechanical switches outside your field of view. The machinery lining the walls clicks and pops and hums ominously. She hums along with it. She scampers around the edges of the room, occasionally dragging her tail across your face. It's soft and warm and like finding the sweet spot on the bed, except just kinda dropped on you while its owner makes sure the antiquantized rehelicasation engine is putting out about 32 mφ/s.

“Sorry about that! I wanted to make sure everything was warming up while I explained the procedure.” That would explain the ominous whirring. “So! In a traditional Cooley–Tukey fast Fourier transform, we can recursively descend onto a signal, dividing, conquering, and reassembling smaller chunks to translate it into the frequency domain.” She pulls down a chart with a bunch of sine waves on it. “In our new process, the fast furrier transform-” She pulls down another one with a bunch of anthropomorphic skunks in horny poses on it. “-we can do the same with a human, eventually projecting them into a cuter, fuzzier space. You can learn more about fast Fourier transforms at your local library. You know, after I turn you into a pony.” She laughs at her own joke, then it's more of a general maniacal laugh as she throws the giant Frankenstein-ass switch on the wall. She fastens something cold and metal over your head. Electricity surges. Motors whir. Generators buzz and crack. Flywheels spin up, then stop cold. She says something about twiddle factors and the chirp-z algorithm.

Your mind breaks clean in half.

Then the halves break in half.

Then the quarters break in half.

Then the eighths break in half.

Then the sixteenths break in half.

And so on until the 8192nds break in half.

And each break is accompanied by a searing bliss right down the middle. Growing more numerous and powerful every time. A shock that makes it hard to reckon with the thin layer of fur growing on your body. Or the snout. Or the majestic mane. Or any of the other 16384 parts of you currently being twisted into something newer, cuter, and with a taste for skunkgirl cock.

As fun as it is having your mind diced into easily-washed chunks, the machine surges once more. Patches of fur merge into a big, soft coat. Fingers blur together into adorable, useless hooves. And you are making quite the adorable pony, what with your golden coat, strawberry mane, and butt tattoo that indicates you're suited for lab work. Disjointed memories and fragments of personality rejoin into a new whole. A new, helpful whole! Based on the person you used to be, yes, but projected into a new domain. Your hooves easily slip out of the cuffs and onto the floor.

“So, how do you feel?” The skunk asks, swishing her tail eagerly with pen poised over page.

“Like a brainwashed lesbian horse.”

“And?”

The part of your brain that used to be called head_slice[5246] tells you to say “I love it, Miss Grace!”, and you do. And then head_slices [453] and [6222] really like it when she scratches you behind those perky ears. You trot alongside her, listening to all 16384 parts of you that just love to help pretty girls do experiments.

You fucking love science.


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#educational #Grace #hacking #hypnosis

“You see, dear.” Virus Girl Grace sits on the desk. Every computer in the room's fans spin up to properly render her and run her physics engine. Especially when she shakes her head to make her hair bounce. “In software, when you need a place to temporarily store some data on its way to somewhere else, we call that place a 'buffer'. Set aside some chunk of memory to hold what you're working on, and then get rid of it once you're done. For example, your computer can send things to the printer faster than the printer can print, so it has to buffer that data until the printer's ready.”

She walks in a slow circle around her target. The footsteps echo from nearby speakers.

“However, this can lead to issues. If you get more data than you're expecting, you overflow the buffer. And a skilled attacker can use specially crafted data to overflow the buffer in a very specific way and, say...” She snaps her fingers. Every monitor in the room flickers and shifts and flashes. Hearts and circuitry crawl this way and that.

“Take control.”

She sits herself on the keyboard in front of her prey. Sitting straight, tall, and ready to pounce.

A finger against her prey's chin cranes their neck back and forces them to make eye contact. Make sure they see her sharp little smile. “Human brains, it turns out, have a very similar weakness. Poking just a few extra bytes into the wrong place can have all sorts of unintended consequences.”

“In this case, there's a few microseconds in the human saccadic masking routine where your optic nerve's hookup to the brain can be overloaded by something unexpected, inducing a voltage in some neurons that correspond to... well, it's easier if I show you.” She picks up the big, beige CRT monitor she was leaning against and holds it on her lap. The screen cycles through colors, bouncing and shifting in time with her voice. “If you know how to work these old CRTs, they produce a flash of something called 'ninthcolor' that...” She whacks the side of the monitor. The flyblack transformer whines and crackles. The electron gun inside glows with heat far beyond what it was designed for. The capacitor inside crackles with a worrying amount of electricity.

She snaps her fingers off to the side, her prey's eyes dart to focus on the noise, the screen flashes, and, well, have you ever seen a person dump their higher brain functions into the bit bucket, go limp all at once, and just wait for someone to tell them what to do? Because it's pretty hot, especially when you see a virus girl take a limp arm, wiggle it around a bit, let it fall back against the ground, and, satisfied, plug a keyboard into the back of their neck and whistle to herself while she types away.


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#ahegao #bondage #bulge #cheerleaders #crime #frillyoutfits #genitals #hacking #hypnogas #hypnosis #maids #Modemoiselle #Murdermaids #realityplay #ShowStoppers #supervillainy #transformation

This post is part 2 in a series of 2. The other post in this series is: Part 1

You know how it is being a busy executive. Buy, sell, buy, sell, shouting into the phones all day. Extracting excess capital from your workers, distributing it to your fellow rich assholes, and keeping a healthy portion for yourself. You're in the middle of gutting another beloved retailer who was doing just fine without you saddling them with debt and stripping them for parts when your intercom crackles to life. Funny, it's usually more of a buzz. And circuitry doesn't crawl out of the speaker. And your secretary doesn't usually sound like a supervillain saying “Good girls don't move~”. And your fancy mesh-backed office chair almost never turns into a tightly woven mass of ribbons, binding your arms and legs and covering your mouth in soft, shiny black velour. Big, shiny black bows dangle from your mouth, arms, and legs. And they're wrinkling your suit!

The intercom crackled and surged with electricity. A familiar face crawls out of the speaker. Followed by a familiar head of blonde hair, a familiar pink streak over one eye, a familiar black bow, a familiar parasol, and the familiar flowing black ball gown, wreathed with ribbons, cables, and circuitry that could only belong to Modemoiselle herself. She shakes her down cascade onto her shoulders. A few errant arcs of pink lightning arc between her locks. She sits atop the desk, one leg crossed over the other. Boot tapping against her captive's leg. “Well, well, well. If it isn't...” She plucks the unused ceramic coffee mug from its nest of takeout coffee cups. “Number one boss?” She shakes her head.

Her boot heel digs into her target's awfully vulnerable groin. D-did she always have a bulge down there? And did it always feel s-so good when a supervillain ground her heel against it, sending waves of circuitry pulsing across her exquisitely tailored suit?

Modemoiselle's finger swipes across the mug's surface. “Boss” vanishes to the left, and “pet” swoops in from the right. “Hmm, no, you're not really a pet, are you?” She smiles a devious smile and keeps swiping. “Slut?” She smiles at her captive. Watching her squirm and kick uselessly against her bonds. “What's wrong, dear? Can't break a few simple ribbons? I know you love how they feel against your skin. Too enchanted by my mere presence, perhaps, to even raise a finger against Miss Modemoiselle, The Grand Dame of the Grid?” She extends a black gloved finger and presses it against her quarry's chin. The ribbons tighten. Mmmph, they do feel good. Impossibly soft, even as they help Modemoiselle invade your mind and corrupt every thought of escape into 'fuck, I'm so horny for supervillains, like always.'” Modemoiselle's finger digs into her captive's chin and forces her to make eye contact.

“You're a smart girl. You went to...” Another ribbon lashes out from that fancy office chair. This time, it snatches the diploma off the wall. “Brown. Jeez, way to pick the hardest Ivy to tease you about.” She drops it and lets the glass shatter on the floor.

“But that was always your perogative, wasn't it? Always playing it safe. The safest school, the safest career, the easiest money.” She's back at the mug again. Swiping from “pet” to “harem dancer” to “onahole” to “sex doll”, making sure her victim gets an eyeful of each. “The meekest secretary who's too afraid of losing her job to turn down your advances. Maybe we should see how you like it.” She swishes the mug to say “Number One Secretary.”

The captive's breathing gets heavier.

“Now as for the nameplate, how long does it take to get a new one of these ordered?”

The ribbons get tighter.

“Sorry, two new ones ordered. One for me, one for my brainwashed little fuck typist.”

Too tight.

“Oh, look at me, fussing like some useless exec who doesn't know how to type, much less what the company actually does.”

The ribbons begin to tear.

“I'm sure I can issue some useless strategy memos that my underlings will use to bludgeon the real workers into compliance with their own petty goals.”


A blinding flash of light vaporizes the chair and the ribbons. New pink ones fly in from every corner of the room, twirling around what was once Modemoiselle's captive, and is now a spinning blob of girl-shaped transformation sequence summoning the powers of goodness, light, and ribbons to bear against her foe. Her plain brown hair explodes into chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry streaks, promptly tamed by a flowing pink ribbon tying itself into a neat little bow. Pretty standard magical girl stuff, you see a lot of it in the mid to high fantasy villainy business.

“In the name of all that is good and right, Ribbonmancer will never cease to fight, fight, fight!” The light fades. Instead, the same person stands. Her tailored suit transformed into pure light, and now into a tight white top with a big pink ribbon covering her breasts. A too-short black pleated skirt and a pair of panties are the only thing separating her new bulge from the world. She twirls her wand between her white gloved fingers and levels it at the dastardly supervillain who defaced her mug.

“I coulda sworn you had a better battle cry than that. It sounds like a high school fight song.”

“I didn't get to pick it, it's the Sacred Oath of the Seamstress's Sanctum.” She flicks her wrist, sending infinite lengths of pink ribbon flying out from every direction. Modemoiselle lept backwards off the desk, still holding the Number One Secretary mug.

“I thought you looked better in the suit.” Modemoiselle effortlessly twirls out of the way of every ribbon. She'll sidestep one, walk up another, then hook a third with the coffee mug handle and zipline down the length. “But, well, the slutty sailor scout cheerleader is a good look, too. Come on, say the thing again, but this time, stick a 'goooo team!' at the end.” A flick of her wrist twists a length of ribbon into a perfect pom-pom shape, knotted around one of Ribbonmancer's hands.

“We arrested you last night! You should be rotting in jail!”

“Finally, someone gets it. You should tell your bird friend about that so she doesn't make a fool of herself when a supervillain puts her into a brainwashing dream pod and turns her into a brainwashed little pony named... oh, I don't know...”

“Clop Star?” A third voice echoes from the other side of the intercom.

“Ravenna?” Ribbonmancer's attention snaps to the speaker on the desk. “What did she do to you? What did she do to us?”

“What do you think, Star? Does that count? Did she get it before you?”

“It doesn't count if you had to explain the whole plan to her before she got it. At least Bird Brain remembered the dream bomb.” The pony pouts from over the intercom.

“You're right. It was my fault for expecting more from an MBA.” Modemoiselle nods.

“Hey!”

“Oh, I've been calling you a useless drain on society since I got here, but that's the last straw? Come on, dear, at least pick the right battle.” She shakes her head. “Tell you what. I'll forget all about it if we can hear that cheer. I know you have it in you- I wrote the program myself.” Modemoiselle swipes the text on the mug a few more times until it says “Number One Cheerleader”.

New thoughts pour in through the magical girl's ears. Intoxicating music piercing straight through her mind. Entire lobes of her brain light up for their singular purpose. Her hips swivel and shake back and forth, powered by the rhythms borrowing her body and twisting her to Modemoiselle's villainous whims. She twirls on her toe and summons another ribbon pom-pom to match the one currently imprisoning her hand.

“In the name of all that's good and right! Ribbonmancer will fight! fight! fight!”

The ribbons start to shift. Pink gives way to black and green. Circuitry starts to replace the veins in her eyes. The poor thing struggles against the music rending her thoughts to pieces. Fists clenching. Body twisting. Brand new cock leaking right into her extremely visible panties.

“Better do what it says, dear. It'll just get stronger and stronger until you give in~” Modemoiselle idly pretends to inspect her nails through her gloves. “I wrote more cheers for you, and it'd be awfully rude to refuse to recite them for the supervillain who's currently up to her elbows in your brain. You'd look cute with your brain melted into a singing, dancing puddle, but I have bigger plans for you.” The coffee mug dangles from her index finger while she leans forward onto her palms. All too happy to simply sit and watch the show.

“Miss Modemoiselle, please own my mind! This dumb cheerleader's in a bind! I can't think and I can't drive! My brain is ribbons, I'll be eaten alive! Take pity on this capitalist slut and let her show off her perfect butt!”

Every rhyming pair only feeds the music pulsing a circuit heart-shaped hole through her mind. But no hero would go down without one last-ditch effort to save herself. She had to be using that mug for something. It was her only weak point. Her body twirls, springs, and shakes from side to side, as is natural when being turned into a cheerleader by brainwashing music hooked directly up to your head through the dream pod being controlled by a supervillain. One of her wrists flicks outside of the prescribed routine. What a breach in protocol! What will Miss Modemoiselle say? The ribbon pom-pom on that hand unfurls, sending one lashing directly at the coffee mug.

“Ooh, I love the spunk, dear, but bad choice~” Modemoiselle lets the mug slip off her finger. The ribbon entangles her wrist, but it's too late. The mug tumbles down, down, down onto that fancy hardwood floor you insisted on, and it

shatters.


The sound of breaking ceramic echoes to and from every direction. The office facade falls away to reveal... well, nothing, really. An endless void stretching in every direction. Empty, save for Modemoiselle and a naked Ribbonmancer. The music in her head has subsided, but so has everything else.

“You really thought that shattering the thing that represented your brain was going to help you in the dream world? Haven't you seen, like, any fiction? Or had someone explain the concept of a metaphor to you?”

“Fine.” Ribbonmancer crosses her arms, calling up a few winding ribbons- in Modemoiselle's colors instead of her usual pink, of course- to cover her breasts and new cock. Out of habit, really. And she only knows how to tie them in big, bouncy bows, so that's what's going on with the naked Ribbonmancer situation. “You win, what was I supposed to do?”

“Dear, look at you.” Modemoiselle snaps her gloved fingers. A sleek, human-sized, curved glass pod rises from the void. Inside is Ribbonmancer, still wearing her suit, headphones clamped to her ears, and staring at a hacked black ribbon over her eyes that's keeping her nice and under the supervillain's spell. “Did you really think you could think your way out of this one? You couldn't even think your way out of 'maybe my greedy, destructive business tactics are causing more harm than my heroing is doing good', much less 'capitalism is a prison'. Even if I did set up a puzzle box for you with some chance of escape, I don't think you'd get it. Why would I risk breaking up my matching set?”

“So all of us are...”

“In pods like this! Well, except for the one you already met. She's currently... hang on.” Modemoiselle vanishes for a moment as she jacks out of the dream pod. She reappears a moment later. “...Practicing a musical number. She pushed me out of her room with her hooves and said it was a surprise for me and that I can't listen until it's done.”

“She's also currently a horse.”

“That she is! So, how are you doing?”

“Cold, naked, and brainwashed, apparently.”

“Oh, don't worry, dear.” Modemoiselle smiles. White coffee mug shards zoom from all corners of the void. “You're going to get much more brainwashed than this.” The mug reassembles in her hand, still on 'cheerleader'. A few swipes of her finger set it back to 'secretary'. She sets it on top of the pod. The thick pink fog inside thickens. The music returns to the hero's head, even stronger than before. The hacked ribbon currently beaming thoughts into her brain kicks into overdrive.

Ribbonmancer can see the outlines of spirals drilling deeper and deeper into her brain, and she's starting to realize that it's good? That the machine wrapped around her cock and programmed to deliver perfect pleasure straight to her brain makes it hard to think about anything else? That Miss Modemoiselle was right all along? That her tongue is rolling out of her mouth, and her eyes want to roll up into her head? That Miss Modemoiselle's fingers are combing through her hair right now and a single tug would send her over the edge?

“You know, dear, I bet if you begged me, I'd tug your hair like the slut you are and shatter your mind into a trillion pieces.” Modemoiselle gingerly collects strands of Neapolitan hair into her hand. Putting just a little pressure on. Barely enough to get her toy's breath quivering. “But with how rude you've been, you're going to have to wow me.”

“P-please, Mode-”

“Miss Modemoiselle.” A snap of Modemoiselle's fingers forces the words to catch in her throat. “Haven't you ever begged before? Make me want to assimilate you. Here, I'll even give you a hand, since we all know that capitalism and being a corporate stooge chokes out innovation.”

A simple stool rises from the depths and bumps against her butt.

Ribbonmancer looks down, then up. She sits down. It's cold. Modemoiselle smiles and nods. “Now what?”

She looks unsure. She calls another ribbon up and lets it tie her legs together. Nice and tight, with a big ol' bow. Black ribbons with Modemoiselle's circuitry pulsing down their length. Tingly against her skin. Perfectly packaged for Miss Modemoiselle. Bound up, at her mercy, presenting yourself to her for her to use for whatever evil scheme she dreams up...

She barely needs the encouragement to continue. She binds her hands behind her back. The ribbons around her breasts fall away and retie themselves into a figure-eight knot. She ties her cock up with a neat little bow, a touch of pressure so she's hard and ready for action whenever Miss wishes. One last ribbon snakes around her mouth and seals it off. She looks up at Modemoiselle expectantly.

“Much better. Was that so hard?” Her boot's pressing against that cute little gift-wrapped cock again. Ribbonmancer's eyes roll back into her head and her mouth ribbon muffles a moan.

Modemoiselle levels a loaded parasol at her bound bounty. “You know what this is full of, right?”

She nods.

“And you want me to spray you with it, I bet.”

She nods.

“Even though this much at this range will let me sculpt your brain however I wish?”

She nodnodnods.

“And I'm going to take over your company, use its resources to help as many people as possible, all while you're my brainwashed secretary?”

Nodnodnodnodnodnodnodnod.


Psssh~ Thick pink smoke envelops her face. Her eyes roll back into her head. Modemoiselle, as promised, gives her hair a mighty yank! and the poor thing moaned so hard, Clop Star could hear it from her room in the real world.

Modemoiselle spraying a dressed-up Ribbonmancer with pink hypnosmoke


“Aww, hypnoslut's first orgasm.” Modemoiselle does not stop pulling, and the girl formerly known as Ribbonmancer does not stop coming. “Don't worry, dear. There's more where that came from during every step of your training.”

Poor thing was too busy having pleasure centers she didn't even know about turned all the way up to really process what Miss Modemoiselle was monologuing at her about. Too busy having her brain reduced to its base components. Too busy being smashed to pieces so it could be rebuilt. And far too horny to realize the dream world metaphor Modemoiselle was going for with the mug.

Soon, the vicious viral vixen vanished. The pod kicked into overdrive, stretching its captive's perception of time to run her through countless training exercises. Exactly how Miss Modemoiselle likes her coffee*. Where every file and record is kept** and how Miss Modemoiselle likes them presented to her***. And what happens when Miss Modemoiselle says “Showtime”****. All pulsed to the bedrock of her brain, where things like “kissing girls is good” and “water is wet, but not as wet as I am when Miss Modemoiselle looks me in the eyes” live.

“The report on my brainwashing and time in the pod, Miss Modemoiselle.” Her heels click and clack against the ground. Same expensive suit as before, but pulsing with circuitry, tastefully accented with corrupted ribbons, and adjusted to show off her new curves. The walls lined with computers and pulsing circuitry, dusted by three Murdermaids sitting on each other's shoulders and working in parallel. Modemoiselle herself has her boots kicked up on the table, allowing her secretary to sneak a peak up her skirt. She does, of course.

“And~?”

Three minidiscs clatter onto the desk. “Perfect as always, Miss Modemoiselle. You're far too brilliant to allow some ungrateful hero to ruin your plans.”

“And~?”

“Any time you want to kick your feet up on a different desk, the old office has been done up to your liking and awaiting your masterful direction.”

“And~?”

“Would you like to adjust my body and mind more to your liking? You did a perfect job the first time around, but I know how you love to tinker.”

“That I do, dear. Go check on the rest of the pods and practice your cheers with your pony friend. She said you were a little flat last time.”

Her heels clicked off, her hips swayed just like how Miss Modemoiselle liked, and the halls echoed with the beeping of pods, the knocking on glass, and, soon, the distant practicing of cheers with a pony.

Fuck, it's good to be a villain.


* She doesn't, she prefers soda ** In the computer *** You fanning out some disks on her desk, delivering a brief oral report, and asking if Miss would like to brainwash you into anything. A folder stuffed with papers if you need something that thuds on the table, but you don't have to print anything on them. **** [data missing]


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#exhibitionism #gasmask #hypnogas #hypnosis #latex #maids #masshypnosis #masturbation #Modemoiselle #Murdermaids #musk #skunkgirl #supervillainy #syringes #transformation

“Hey, kid!”

“Wanna tail?”

“First one's free!”

Two identical maids alternate calls to passers-by, grabbing and twirling around what was a phone booth* in a previous life. Now it's more like a nine foot tall metal gazebo** that shot up through the sidewalk like a tree. The pair grab the sides and twirl around it, shouting their message to all who walk by.

“I don't get it, 12, what are we doing wrong?” One of them sighs and lets the booth prop her up. “Is my bow on straight?”

“We're both adorable.” 12 blows her pink streak out of her eye and makes sure her ribbon collar proudly displays her number. “What kind of city is this where people won't give two maids standing next to a transformation booth the time of day?”

“Maybe they think it'll turn them into a maid.”

“It will, though.”

“Sure, but it doesn't have to turn them into one of us.”

“I dare you to find a button on that control panel that doesn't say 'maid' or 'butler'.”

“Just get in the box, I'll show you.”

“It's more like a cylinder or an octagon.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me how it looks inside.” 14 gives 12 a nudge, and the big metal door slams shut behind her. This sort of thing needs a little drama to it.

Fourteen clears her throat. Each side of the gazebo is a screen that flickers to life, showcasing the other maid's predicament to the world. “Come one, come all! See the life that could await YOU with just a step into Modemoiselle's Patented Life-Affirming Chamber of Wonders!”

“It's not a carnival ride, it's a-”

“An experience of a lifetime! Try on your fursona! Adjust your bust! Still using that boring old gender your mom got you? The sky's the limit!” With the trademark razzle-dazzle you'd expect from one of Modemoiselle's hypemaids, she smashes her hand across the control panel.

The machine whirs to life. The telltale pressurized hiss of hypnogas venting into the chamber is amplified and replayed onto the street. Twelve's black gloved hand balls into a fist, going limp before it can even contact the door once. Her eyes go from brown to red and quickly to shimmering, swirling pink.

A crowd is gathering outside. Onlookers range from morbidly curious to asking Fourteen how to get their turn. Questions get a wink, a blown kiss, and maybe a front-row seat to the next time she twirls.

Speakers inside the booth interfere with each other to create inescapable webs of mind-soupifying siren song. Her eyes roll back into her head just in time to reveal the whites giving way to shifting pink spirals, pierced by veiny green circuit traces.

“How do you get their eyes to do that? Is there a chemical change going on or projectors or what?” A curious twink asks.

“It's simple.” Fourteen slaps the side of the changing booth like she's selling a car. “Miss Modemoiselle's classified cocktail both temporarily scrambles a subject's mental state and their cellular structure. Normally, this has to be done in moderation, but in the controlled environment of the changing booth, we can have a lot more fun. For example!” She twirls on her heel, smashes a few buttons, and throws one of the big Frankenstein-ass switches.

Black and pink latex drips from the ceiling. Twelve's swirling eyes vanish under twin pink eyehole screens. What's playing at the Gas Mask Duoplex? The nice spirals it's currently drilling into her skull with pictures of what a good skunkdrone she'll be and all the good words to have burned into your brain and how very, very erotic this whole experience is for a good girl like yourself. The vents on the front force gas out of the air and up your nose and throat, juuust to make sure you weren't cheating by holding your breath or something. That would be a bad girl thing to do, after all.

What used to be a modest pink streak in a head of blonde hair now takes up the entire front right quadrant. It's currently the last part of Twelve's head not hidden behind a bubbling latex gas mask. Cables snake from hidden corners and find well-worn places to jack in. Twelve was no stranger to having her genes hacked- no Murdermaid was- which should tell you how good it feels when she drops to her knees and starts drooling and moaning with bliss. Pink and green crackling electricity surge up the cables, across the mask, and into Twelve. A bulge pushes at the back of her maid dress. It's rising. Growing. And, finally, a big ol' skunk tail bounces into place. Pink stripe down the middle, splitting impossibly soft black fur. She gives it a few experimental swishes before tucking it between her legs and mindlessly humping away. Eyes rolled up into her head and drool dripping down her formerly immaculate outfit. Good girls don't get to finish without permission, of course, but it feels good to grind. It feels so good.

Pleasure is all that matters. Flashed the screen inches from her eyes. Pleasure is bliss, bliss is pleasure, Modemoiselle is bliss.

“How do you feel?” Fourteen smugly leans against the outside of the Changing Booth, arms crossed and microphone in hand. Her voice echoes out into the street and directly into Twelve's head.

“However you want me to feel~” Twelve moans.

Good girl. You feel good.”

Pleasure, the mask reminded.

“I figured that one out alreadyyyyy~” Ooh, someone found the sweet spot on the tail. She's panting and moaning up a storm.

“And you're going to feel like standing up and giving the tail a break.”

Twelve dutifully rises to her booted feet, swishing her tail in an effort to try and squeeze just a little stimulation out of this whole situation.

“And you're going to be very friendly to all the nice people. Your usual maidly self. Nice, smart, kind of a tightass sometimes, and dispenses kisses to cute girls in maid outfits. But your tail is going to have a mind of its own. It's Miss Modemoiselle's tail you're wearing, after all, and you're so pent up with musk.”

“So pent uuuuh~p.” Twelve repeated. Tail swishing impatiently.

“So pent up. Good girls wait until they're called. Brain off.” Fourteen snaps her fingers, and Twelve's pink, swirling eyes roll back into her head.

The eyescreens turn to static. A few drops of drool roll down her chin.

Off.

“As you can see, my lovely volunteer is having the time of her life, is experiencing bold new things, and has a body she loves!” Fourteen “accidentally” leans against one of the sliders, and Twelve's front bulge arcs with electricity as it doubles in size. “The spiral projectors targeting her eyes ensure the experience is a blissful one, and is simply a more focused version of the one shining into your eyes right now. Same with the speakers. Now, everyone give a round of applause to our guest of honor, Murdermaid Twelve!”

Twelve hears her name and jerks awake. The inch-thick steel door slides out of the way, spilling thick pink hypnomusk onto the sidewalk. She steps into the crowd, tail swishing hungrily, just waiting for a victim. Everyone steps away. “Jeez, what'd you do? This place was a ghost town before.”

Fourteen, smiling like a catgirl who caught the maid in the transformation booth, stands next to her friend and leans on her shoulder. She reaches down and takes a nice handful of freshly grown 12 cock. “Oh, just gave the people a little taste. How's things?”

“I feel like there's something you're not telling me.” Twelve looks around. She's cute when she's confused. So is Fourteen. Well, less confused and more surprised by the big black and pink fluffy tail currently enveloping her head and smothering her brain with musk. The poor thing's eyes roll back in her head even quicker than her test subject's. She goes limp, letting her chin rest in the tail. She drops the microphone, sending a sharp squeal over the crowd.

Try and put yourself in Twelve's shoes. They're very cute and well-polished, like the rest of you. You're only vaguely aware you have an evil hypnoskunk tail coming out of your backside, the only person who did know what's happening is currently having their brain melted by you, and the microphone that controls the mind-jacking speakers aimed at the crowd just rolled against your foot. The hypnoscreens in front of you are your only way of seeing the world, and they helpfully point out the microphone and you could use it to make these people help you feel good. Bliss is pleasure. Modemoiselle is pleasure. Modemoiselle is obedience.

Oh, and then your maid friend lunges at you and kisses a bunch of pure Modemoiselle musk into your mouth and strokes your hair and calls you a good girl until your hair is a mess and your mind has kinda been dissolved in musk and you just wanna kiss girls and do crimes and you know just how to do both of them.

The tail coils around both maids. They both hold the microphone, and they speak in unison. “We're gonna turn the machine all the way up and start making out in there and see what happens. Anyone who wants to join us is guaranteed a job afterwards~” A few tailswishes disperse the mind-fogging musk over the crowd. About a dozen people, ranging from the curious twink from earlier to people who, frankly, never stood a chance against something like this.

The booth doors slide open.

And close.

The screens flicker off, the speakers click quiet, and yet, anyone outside can hear the faint sounds of getting your brain fucked silly by the biggest cock you've ever seen while you're high on brain-sizzling hypnomusk and having your genes hacked by a supervillain.


“Miss, booth L is down again.”

“Twelve and Fourteen?”

“How'd you guess?”

“They do this every time I put them together. They go off script, start a huge orgy in the booth, forget everything in an orgasmic haze, and repeat.”

“So, how long does this, uh.”

“If you hurry, you can make it before they find the pleasure-linked hive mind button. Take the subway, the roads get backed up after the musk leak.”


* for the younguns, imagine a big smart phone you stand inside and try not to catch diseases from.

** https://www.netfunny.com/rhf/jokes/98/Jul/gazebo.html

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#costumes #exhibitionism #Grace #hypnosis #possession #StreamersLittleHelper #videogames

This post is part 2 in a series of 2. The other post in this series is: Part 1

Nea was streaming, like she did most nights. The StreamBoost had largely worn off after that first night, leaving her with a healthy audience who tuned in regularly to watch her squeeze into her skintight Gracer outfit, put her wig on, and play the game in character as the crafty hypnotease. “Hello there, dears~” She'd coo, dangling her crystal between her fingers. “Are we ready to play~?”

The actual gameplay is alright, but she could really have fun during the downtime. Respawns, queues, each one gives her a chance to make sure her camera has a nice view of her boobs and crystal. “Okay, everyone~” She chimes. “You're all falling under my spell again. Everyone who doesn't send me a dollar before the match starts is gonna think they're a chicken~” That wonderful streamer spirit had mostly left her head. She still got a tingle when a new subscriber joined or someone sent her a donation. Wearing the costume still gave her this wonderful erotic bliss. She slept in it most nights after streaming. She had to remind herself not to wear it when she went to her day job.

“When was the last time you washed that thing?” Mersenne poked their head into Nea's room. Mersy was her roommate. A short stay-at-home hacker with a thick nest of black hair on their head that requires prescription-strength shampoo just to stop it from getting worse. The only thing rarer than seeing them outside the house was seeing them without sweatpants and a Coke Zero.

“Maybe I should change things up. But you get to handle the stream while I'm gone~ Play whatever you want, dear.” Nea stands up and lets Mersy take her seat. “Everyone be nice to Mersy, okay~?” She blows a kiss at the camera and hops off to the closet.

“Ahem.” Mersenne mumbles. We can't all have the public speaking skills of a freshly brainwashed internet personality. “Hello, everyone. Today, we'll be playing... let's see...” They scrolled through Nea's library. “Grace's Row 3. I always used to, uh, dress up as those Decker specialist girls with the huge hammers, plaid skirts, and the really good- what, uh, torn fishnets in the game. And sometimes you get to run around with that big old gravity hammer thin-” Nea's crystal dropped between Mersy and the screen. The audience could see Nea smiling over her roommate's shoulder, dangling her lovely, shiny crystal and holding something behind her back.

“Deep breaths, Mersy~ We're gonna put on a nice show for the people.” A few pink electric sparks jump from her fingers to her crystal to Mersy's eyes. “Just relax and sink into your seat, and you'll make all the people out there very happy. You'll make me happy. You love it when I'm happy.” Poor, defenseless Mersenne is already sinking into the chair, transfixed by the crystal. “And it would make me very happy if you stood up and stripped.”

Mersy wobbles to their feet. Eyes stuck and jaw slack. They slowly slide out of their sweatpants and peel their shirt off. “Very good! Take a bow, dear. Everyone's clapping for you!” Mersy takes a pretty awkward bow, facing away from both the camera and Nea while staring at her crystal every second.

“And now~” Nea takes Mersy's chin. Can't have 'em drooling on the carpet, after all. “You're gonna be my hypnotized cosplay stream slut pet. You love nothing more than to be dressed up and hypnotized on stream for me. Every time I'm on the air, you'll be right there with me. Smiling, looking pretty, and ready to fall under my spell at the drop of a hat. Perfect.”

“Perfect~” Mersenne echoed.

“Thank Princess Nea for making you a hypnotized cosplay slut~” Nea reveals her surprise and dangles the outfit for everyone to see. Electric blue skirt, torn fishnets, a sexy jacket and T-shirt, and, of course, a big ol' gravity hammer with a dildo on top. “And she'll dress you up~”

“Thank you so much, Princess! Thank you for emptying my head and turning me into your dress-up doll~!” Mersenne has never been this excited about anything, much less anything involving other people and dressing up for a roommate. And yet, here they are, stepping into torn fishnets and glowing roller skates. Completely entranced by a silly swinging crystal and a little bit of brain virus hacking. Mind putty in the hands of a girl still reeling from the effects of a horny cyberghost. Loving every minute of it.

The fake breasts went on, then the shirt, then the cool jacket, then the belts. Every piece of clothing brought bliss to both Mersenne and the girl dressing them up. When the frilly skirt came on, Nea couldn't resist giving her silly dolly a kiss. Poor Mersy looked awful confused. Silly thing didn't know what to do about a kiss from Princess!

“Aww, looks like kisses turn your brain off. It's kinda cute~”

“I'm a cute hypnotized cosplay slut~ Kisses turn my brain off~”

Nea sat in front of the camera and beckoned her doll slut to come sit on her lap. “Hi, everyone! I'd like to officially introduce Dolly Slut! The only thing she loves more than being hypnotized into dressing up for me is being hypnotized into dressing up for me and my stream! Say hi to everyone, Dolly.”

“Hii~” Dolly waved. “My name is Dolly Slut, and that's everything Princess Nea put in my silly little head! <3” Dolly stuck their tongue out a little and crossed their eyes.

“Isn't she great, folks? Made 'em myself~” Dolly gets a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the head.

Nea played the game as best she could with a silly, empty dolly on her lap trying (and succeeding!) to look cute for the camera. When she got to one of the cute specialist girls her doll was so perfectly dressed as, she gave a 'watch this' wink to the camera. “Hmm, looks like you're missing something, dear.” Nea points to the girl on screen. “Look at her hair, dear. She's got a nice, bright blue streak in her hair, and you have all this.” She playfully tugs at a tightly coiled lock of her slut's hair. “What's a cosplay slut to do?”

“Please tell me, Princess~!” Dolly begged. “You know my head is too empty to think~! I'm just here to look good and wear what you want. Remember when you hypnotized me into doing this in front of everyone and it was really hot?”

“Of course I do. But you won't.” Nea swings the crystal in front of her silly dolly's eyes again. “There we go. Blank little head. Empty, silly dolly brain. A blank slate for me to play with. And right now, you're almost ready to be my little Deckerbutt. As soon as your costume is complete, you're gonna be impatient, have a lot of attitude, and loooove being brainwashed. You're a specialist, after all. You don't have time to deal with regular old impossibly gorgeous girls like me.”

“Of course not, Princess. I'm much too busy for a perfect, incredible girl to hypnotize me. I especially don't have time to be brainwashed into bringing her snacks and fantasizing about how much I love being under her control!”

“Perfect.” Nea winked at the stream, produced the black wig, and-

“MetalGraceSolid just sent a StreamBoost!” The computer chimed. The lights began to flicker. The screen turned every color of the rainbow. And~

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#ConStitution #costumes #frillyoutfits #Grace #hypnosis #magicalgirls #maids

This post is part 4 in a series of 4. The other posts in this series are: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Meanwhile, back at the costume rental booth, Grace strikes up a conversation with her neighbor at Lady Laser's Lolita Lane. “I really should have brought a mannequin or hired a model. They just look like a mess of ruffles on the shelf.” Lady Laser laments.

Grace nods and looks out at the hallways, bustling with people who haven't yet caught the bouncing bunny disease currently sweeping the artist's alley. She smiles when she hears the world's brattiest voice pierce the general hustle and bustle of the con floor.

“Jessica! Walk! Faster! God!” A girl with the “noble grace and bearing” you can only get from a school that costs way too much money tugs a girl who could only be called her lackey through the halls.

“Sally, that hurts!” The lackey moans. Of the two girls, she has the more golden hair, the shorter braid, the cuter glasses, and the slower walk. She's looking everywhere but at Sally, which is probably a good idea.

Sally, the taller, more confident, more spoiled, and with the long silver braid, is practically pulling Jessica's arm off. “Hurry up, we have to get to the panels so we can use our VIP badges to cut in line. Otherwise, what's the point?”

Grace steps out in front of them. “Girls, can I borrow you for a moment?”

Sally is, of course, having none of it. She dodges left to avoid the weird magician lady blocking her path. Grace takes a step back and gets in the way again.

“Excuse you.” Sally splits. “Can I help y-” Snap!

“Eyes up, mind off.” Both Sally and Jessica stare, transfixed, at the point Grace marked with her snap. Lady Laser can't look away, either. Grace looks into Sally's silver (not contacts, insanely expensive surgery) eyes. She takes Sally's arm, tugs it just so, and Snap! “Sleep.” Her legs immediately give out and she falls forward onto the magician's shoulder. “Good girl.” She gets her hair pet while she's walked out of the aisle. Jessica gets to wake up on her own.

“Uh, what are you doing to my friend?” Poor Jessica, can't even look at the impossibly gorgeous magician who just turned her friend into a rag doll. No, her shoes are much more interesting.

“We just need to borrow her for a little bit. Is that okay? I'll even let you take anything you want from my stall.”

“Can I take Sally?”

Grace smiles at Lady Laser. “How do you feel about a walking billboard or two?”

“What are you two talking about?” Jessica stomps her foot and crosses her arms. Look at her, she's worked up the courage to glare at Lady Laser's neck and Grace's belly button.

Snap! “Stiff as a board!” Grace barks to Sally, who promptly obeys and is leaned up against one of the costume racks. “You see, dear.” Big smile at Jessica. “We were going to use your friend as a mannequin to drum up business for Lady Laser here. But if you'd like to dress up with her and show off her designs on the convention floor, I think that could be arranged. I'd even give you the keys to your friend's head. You look like you'd like to make some decisions for once.”

“Well, maybe a little.”

“Good girl.” Jessica gets a pat on the head. “Go fetch your friend and we'll get you dressed up.”

Jessica is in the middle of trying to figure out how to pick up her stiff friend when another snap demands her attention. Both girls stare helplessly at Grace's swinging, shining crystal. “There we go. Nice, deep breaths. I'm just gonna hypnotize you two a little bit and you're gonna love it~! Good girls say 'Yes, Princess.'”

“Yes, Princess.” Jessica and Sally say in blissful unison. Their eyes lit by Princess's crystal and their heads blissful and blank.

“Good girls. It feels good to be good. Good girls repeat after me.”

“It feels good to be good~” Look at them leaning against each other with big, empty smiles on their faces.

“Okay!” Grace claps and reveals her crystal again. “You two are magical girls, sent to battle a mysterious evil that is present at this convention! But you're still in your plain clothes! Let's get a good 'Princess Power Make Up!' so you two can transform and fight crime!”

“Princess Power Make Up!” They giggle in unison. Such good girls.

“Lady Laser, if you please.” Grace waves her booth neighbor over, who obliges with two of her frilliest, least practical dresses. Sally is first- she gets led into the changing booth and comes out dressed as the least mobile maid you could imagine. Finely polished black high heels. Countless layers of petticoats. Big hoop skirt. Fine black silk on top. A white apron with a big pink heart and “Lady Laser's Lolita Lane” written around it. Poofy shoulders. Long white gloves. Grace completes the ensemble with a feather duster and some black lipstick. She plucks a big, curly black wig off her own rack and swaps it out for Sally's hair. “I'll hold onto this for you.” Grace winks, settling Sally's long silver braid on a wig head.

Grace snaps her fingers and beckons silly, hypnotized Jessica over. She takes the other outfit and guides her into the changing booth. Jessica gets a much more colorful treatment. She gets a lot of pink! Pink high heeled platform shoes, stockings with hearts all the way up, a pinker, frillier, poofier dress than Sally ever got, including a bunch of hearts made out of frills, and that's not even counting her long, shimmering sleeves and gloves. Grace paints her lips a sweet pink, some hearts on her cheeks, and gets her a long pink wig with a huge ol' bow on top. She gets a golden scepter with a pink plastic heart gem on top. It even lights up!

“There we go! Good girls. You, Jessie, are Lady Love! With your mighty scepter, you can bring the power of love into anyone's life! But, sadly, the evil has corrupted your staff, and now it just creates lust wherever you go! Hope you figure it out in time before you and everyone else just get too horny to function~!” Jessica presses the staff against the front of her dress and moans a little~

“And you, Sally, are the Masked Meido.” Grace produces a flimsy little black mask that covers about an inch around her eyes and sticks it on Sally. “You are going to be the first to fall under Lady Love's spell. You'll be your usual self until Lady Love works on you. You'll be such a good little maid, so eager to impress her. I know you'd do anything to make sure Lady Love succeeds in her mission~!”

Both girls nod and accept their mission. They look so happy!

Snap!

The Masked Meido blinks her eyes open. She doesn't waste any time crossing her (extremely dressed up) arms and scoffing. “Ugh, can we go?”

Lady Love giggles. “That's not the kind of attitude I expect from my maids, dear~!” She playfully taps the maid's forehead with her scepter. The cheap pink LED inside flashes, and silly Sally's silver eyes flash to match.

An involuntary moan escapes her black lips. “Sorry, Lady Love~!” She pants.

“Because you love to serve~!” Lady Love bops her maid again and ventures off into the con floor.

“I love to serve~!” The maid's thighs clench together before she dutifully trots after her lady.

And so, both magical girls run off to go kiss and fight evil or whatever!

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#cheerleaders #ConStitution #costumes #ditzification #Grace #hypnosis #kissing

This post is part 3 in a series of 4. The other posts in this series are: Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

So, Vixi. You're walking along with your friends, stealing kisses from your pony friend and swishing your tails eagerly. But pretty soon, your legs get tired! And there's so much more convention to see, you can't just stop! You swish your tails mischeviously and smile at your ponyfriend. She looks a little horny and a little worried watching you bristle your pom-poms, but that all goes away when you start to cheer!

You bounce on your feet and launch into “Vixi! Foxy! Yip Yipee! Cute pony girls say 'Please ride me!' On all fours without delay, that would really make my day!” You seal the deal with a lovely, two-tone kiss on the lips. Harla's eyes sparkle with silver and gold and she soon drops onto her hands and knees. “Please ride me, Vixie! I'd hardly be a good pony girl without someone riding me!” You'd oblige, rewarding her with a kiss on the nose and climbing onto her back. She dutifully carries you through the artist's alley, happy as can be.

“No fair! How come we have to walk?” The bunnygirl pouts and blows a lock of synthetic cyan hair out of her face. “Vixi gets to have all the fun.”

“Will you stop whining for once? We're here to have fun.” The catgirl rolls her eyes and keeps walking. “Come on, we're gonna miss the voice actor panel. I wanna make Mina Meow's voice actress say something ridiculous.”

“How come we always have to do what you want?” The bunnygirl, Cyna, mumbles and looks at you. She smiles. You smile back, as if you're hatching the same mischevious plan. And then that thing happens where her mouth moves, you don't hear what she said, and you're doing another cheer because you love cheering! You stand up on your pony's back (she's such a good girl, holding you up like a champ!) and hoist your golden pom-pom into the air.

“Everybody listen to me! This one's easy as one two three! A silly kitty's brain loves cock, a bunny girl starts to rock! Everybody listens to her, and listen to her new pet purr!” Your voice carries across the convention hall, silver and gold sparkles drifting far and wide. People at the epicenter start looking more at your bunny friend, remarking on how cool she is and asking if she needs anything. The catgirl's eyes cross and her tongue rolls out of her mouth. She drops onto her paws and nuzzles against the bulge in Cyna's pencil skirt. She purrs when the librarian bun scratches her big fake black ears.

“Good girl, Vixi!” The bunny laughs. “Now, I want to go see the swordmaking panel. Come along, dears.”

Mmm, but you're not done cheering. You step off your trusty steed's back and do a cheer just for the new popular bun. “Looks like it's a bounce attack! Don't get brainwashed by your rack~!” You bristle your pom-poms up by her big ol' bunny ears and let the silver and gold hypnotic dust sprinkle over her. “One two, one two! You're my funny bunny boo!”

“Vixi! I didn't tell you to-” Mmm, you giggle when you watch her eyelids droop and get all sparkly. She starts to bounce in her loafers like the bubbly bunnygirl librarian she is. Her breasts start to bounce up and down with her. “Bouncy! Bouncy! Fun fun fun! I'm the silliest, jumpiest bun!” Look at her, bouncing and jumping and having the time of her life!

People are starting to gather around. After all, this is the bunnygirl to listen to! Everyone knows she rocks! And she's jumping and jiggling and just looking good. You warm up your throat for one more cheer.

“Whatever you do, don't kiss the bunny! It'll make your mind go all bouncy and funny! Whatever she's got sure is contagious! But it's the most fun disease in ages!”

As your metallic spell washes over the crowd, Cyna starts dispensing kisses and more and more people start giggling and bouncing. Satisfied with your work, you ride your pony and lead your catgirl off somewhere they can both suck you off in peace. “Listen, obey, one two three! Good girls want to pleasure me~”

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#cheerleaders #ConStitution #costumes #Grace #hypnosis #lovestruck

This post is part 2 in a series of 4. The other posts in this series are: Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

You wake to Princess brushing your big, bushy skunk tail. “How's my big dolly doing?” Princess pets your snout. “It took a lot to get your brain emptied out. You had a lot in there. But now you get to just enjoy yourself here at the convention. Just a big, silly doll for everyone here to play with. Not a unique thought in your head. And when I take your adorable outfit off~” With a flourish, she removes your big, plushy skunk head and your big, bouncy tail. Just a moment ago, they were part of you, and now they're gone. Everything's gone. You're an empty little dolly. Princess' plaything first, and the rest of the convention's second. No more cuddle skunk, just shiny, empty dolly. “Well, there goes your mind~ Don't worry, I'll give it back before I let you go.”

She swirls you towards the mirror. You can't read, and even if you could, anything but Princess's words just kinda bead up and fall out of your empty head. “You're going to be the official Con Dolly. You're going to become whatever you're wearing, just like you do for me. Your head is full of fun commands people can tell you to do, and you're not gonna know about any of them. You're not going to remember any of this until Princess says so. You just got here, you've never met a perfect, blonde princess, and she certainly hasn't hypnotized you into being a con doll. Everything that happens to you until the end of the convention is totally normal. Hypnosis isn't even real. You always wear your 'Ask Me About My Hypnotic Triggers' shirt, and it doesn't even mean anything. Just make sure you're at the magic show before the closing ceremonies~” You get a kiss on the nose and a Snap!

Ah, GoodGirlCon! You step up to the convention center with a smile. Passes are so hard to get, you thought you wouldn't get to come this year! The only problem is that you couldn't get a cosplay together in time. How's everyone supposed to know who your favorite good girl is? You'll have to tell them with your mouth like some kind of casual! The first thing you notice is a group of cosplayers from your favorite anime- Kemonomimi Excitement Blast! You'd recognize that pink-haired catigirl maid, the bunnygirl librarian with short cyan hair that curls under her chin, and the ponygirl professor with the long, curly half-black half-red hair. You're looking at them, just thinking they're missing a fourth, when they notice you back. You look the other way, but you hear the maid call “Hey! What does your shirt mean? Ask you about your hypnotic tri-”

There's never any darkness. It's more like someone just cut out a few minutes of your life and spliced them together, so now there's three girls smiling and nodding at you. “So we can just play with you all we want?” The maid, easily a head taller than you, smiles down. The bunnygirl bounces eagerly. The ponygirl looks around like she's late for something.

“Ooh, we could finish the group!” The bunny bounces. “We'd have way more fun with a Vixi!”

They notice you're confused. “Look how cute she is when you use her magic words! Do another one.”

You see the catgirl's mouth move, and some kind of sound hits your ears, but good brains like yours don't worry about that. They just start realizing how incredibly gay they are for girls in anime pony costumes. Where has this girl been all your life? You rush to kiss her, and she kisses you back! Every moment you lock lips feels more and more right! More and more perfect! Deeper and deeper in love! You can practically feel the big cartoon hearts replacing your eyes. Time loses all meaning, and your mind melts into a swirling, stupid puddle. Eventually, she ends the kiss. Her (perfect, musical, incredible, worshipful) voice fills your head, even though she's not talking to you. “Look at that! She kissed herself stupid.”

“Shhtuupid~” You echo. You love repeating after her. It's easy when her words fill your head to the brim.

“Let's take her to the booth on the back of her shirt. Get her dressed up and in character.” Someone other than Girl (the only girl that matters~) says. The words vanish pretty much immediately, since they can't be important. Girl (girl!!) takes you by the hand and leads you in your lovestruck haze. Even just touching her hand is enough to send you for a loop. Soon enough, you're at the costume rental booth. There's a lot of talking that you're much too lovestruck to pay attention to, and you're soon getting stripped down again. You get that disconnected feeling that happens when someone's playing with your mind (not that that's possible!) and you're soon looking into a mirror. Lovestruck you gets put away for a little while. Time for dressup you.

A beautiful, perfect crystal dangles in front of your eyes. You lock onto it, because you are a good girl. You're not being hypnotized. You're just letting your mind turn off for a little bit while a pretty girl tells you what to do. Every passing second makes you twice as relaxed as the one before, but you're not hypnotized. That's for silly, gullible people, not smart girls like you! Anyways, you better listen to the cute girl talking to you. Her words are sticking in your brain and covering up whatever was there before.

“Tell me, dear. Does the name 'Vixi' mean anything to you?” She asks, and you nod.

“What images come to your mind when I say that name?”

She appears in your mind's eye. Soon, it's all you can think about. Your eyes flutter shut. “A fox girl. Two big tails. One silver, one gold. She's a cheerleader, and her outfit matches. One silver pom-pom, one gold. Her hair is half and half and has two big fox ears sticking out of it.”

“Perfect, dear. I want you to focus on her. Let her fill your mind all the way. All your old thoughts are going to go away for a while. You are Vixie now. Stand up and tell us what that means.”

“She's a cheerleader, so she loves to support her friends, but she also l-”

Snap! “You love to support your friends.”

“I love to support my friends, especially after they've fallen for one of my tricks. Sometimes I'll switch their clothes around or trick them into kissing. All kinds of fun!”

“Very good.” Mmm, you can feel your tails coming in already. You smile and swish them back and forth. You step into your silver and gold cheerleader outfit and bristle your pom-poms! Someone brushes your silver and gold hair into place and rubs your ears.

“Mmmph~ I love it when people rub my ears~”

You hear a laugh. A perfect, beautiful, hypnotic (not that there's such a thing as hypnosis) laugh. “Very good, Vixi dear! I'm going to add one more thing, and you get to go have fun with your friends. You're going to find that whenever you cheer, people have a lovely habit of doing what you say. It doesn't last very long, but I think you'll have a lot of fun with it. And-” Snap!

Your eyes flutter open. You smile at the Vixi in the mirror! That's you! You turn around and go hug your friends! They're a little sleepy and groggy and were just looking at that nice blonde lady with the crystal, but now they're here and you can have fun together!

“Vixi! Foxy! One Two Three! Let's all go see what's to see!”

You giggle when you see silver and gold sparkles shine around your friend's heads, and they all nod and agree with you. “Lead the way, Vixi.” Katherine smiles and gestures.

You skip off through the dealer halls, friends in tow. “Ha ha ha and hee hee hee! Cute ponygirls fall in love with me!” You chant. Not only does your favorite red and black pony (her name is Harla!) come hold your hand and kiss you on the cheek, but a girl dressed as Twilight Sparkle leaves her booth selling chainmail dice bags to come give you a kiss.

Mmm, Vixi's gonna have a lot of fun at this con~

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#ConStitution #costumes #Grace #hypnosis #suiting

This post is part 1 in a series of 4. The other posts in this series are: Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Ah, GoodGirlCon! You step up to the convention center with a smile. Passes are so hard to get, you thought you wouldn't get to come this year! The only problem is that you couldn't get a cosplay together in time. How's everyone supposed to know who your favorite good girl is? You'll have to tell them with your mouth like some kind of casual!

Ah, but what's this? You're wandering through the dealer alley when you come across a girl dressed for all the world like a stage magician. Tiny top hat. Short blonde hair with a pink streak over her eye. Tuxedo top and fishnets that go all the way up. Black high heels poking out from under the table. A crystal on a chain slips between her fingers. The front of her table says “COSTUME RENTALS: HOUR, DAY, ETC.” and behind her is a single-occupant changing booth draped with black privacy curtains. She catches your gaze with a smile and a wink. “Like what you see?” She nods to the racks of costumes separating her booth from the neighbors. You step in to take a closer look, and her hand is on your shoulder.

Her silk-gloved hand. Her soft hand. Her warm breath falls on your ear. “Go ahead, dear. There's no wrong choices here.” Mmph. You can feel your muscles relaxing wherever she touches. “This is a safe place where you can be anything you want to be, even if it's just for a little while.”

It's like the lights start to dim around you. The world fades to black. It's just you and her. Even the racks fade away until she picks something from them. “You don't have to worry about much. You get to leave all your worries behind.” Sometimes you catch a flash of her crystal as it slides through her fingers. It's almost as pretty as she is. Almost as pretty as the idea of leaving all your stress right here on the floor while you get to dress up. “You could be a perfect princess.” A perfectly poofy pink ball gown appears in her hands. She presses it against your chest and lets you look at yourself in the mirror. “We'd get you a crown and a scepter. Everyone would call you 'your highness'. You'd be the belle of every ball.”

The gown vanishes, and you miss it. But you don't get to linger on thoughts for long. “Or perhaps something more elaborate? A full body suit. You could wind up looking like anything. A perfect pet or a regal queen. You could leave your old body behind entirely.” Mm. Your head is nice and warm now. And it looks like a skunk! A nice, fuzzy black skunk with a pink streak running down the middle of their snout and a head of blonde hair. The eyes are big, cartoony, and a spiral of blue and green. “It could be anyone in there, and nobody outside would know. You could live out any fantasy you choose. And then, when it's all over, you can leave it all behind like it never happened. So much of your identity tied up in something Princess can put on or take off with a flick of her wrist. So much fun playing a role in front of all those people. So much of you is figments and sprites for Princess to play with, just as temporary and permanent as I wish. Your whole being scattered and reassembled with a few whispered words and a-” Snap!

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